


Causatum of Survival

by 1_The_Teeta_Monster_1



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, F/M, Hurt Edward Elric, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1_The_Teeta_Monster_1/pseuds/1_The_Teeta_Monster_1
Summary: Most of Edward survived Baschool. There's a hole where the rest used to be. And it's leaking. Literally. Warnings for medical horror and post-traumatic stress disorder Parental!RoyEd/Al Brotherly!Al Ed/Winry
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I missed my June update.
> 
> I got a new gaming/video editing computer and I've been practicing with Adobe Premiere and playing Dragon Age 3.
> 
> Then my car broke and I had to buy a new one. This one lets me play my heavy metal through the stereo!
> 
> Needless to say, I've been distracted.
> 
> So, here is the late but scheduled one-shot/first chapter and, per routine, it is full of medical grotesqueness and angst and... stuff.
> 
> I need to go pick up pizza and go home so I can watch HAMILTON!

"Playing it awfully close. A few years ago, we didn't have this. We probably would have had to put him under. All the way under."

"Technically, we don't have this. This procedure is still experimental. You know what his outcome looks like. He probably won't thank us for saving him once he sees what we had to do."

The first person, a lady by the sound of it, snorted dismissively.

"He doesn't have to thank us. As long as he pays us, he can rip himself open again on the rocks and die there for all I care."

If they knew he was awake, they didn't show it.

She was patting his stomach, right between his left hip and ribcage, where the pain was still there, dulled by drugs but powerful enough to continue to throb.

The lady stepped away, still talking to her companion. They'd lowered their voices; his senses weren't strong enough to make out what they were saying.

Perhaps they did know he was awake.

With a tremendous effort, he pulled his eyes open. It felt like his eyes had been glued shut and he had to tear the hardened paste apart.

He wasn't staring directly at the ceiling, his head had been propped up by pillows or maybe the bed, if it was one of those reclining frames. What he could see was fuzzy and doubled. It was a plain room, undecorated and bearing no hints of where he might be. The man and woman at the far end of the room looked like unbaked gingerbread folk.

He had blankets, but they'd been folded down to his legs, and the thin shirt they'd given him was pulled up to his chest, exposing his abdomen. He watched himself breathe, fascinated by the way his torso would rise and fall without him having to think about, and tried to remember how to think.

He was so distracted by his lack of remembrance of the process of thought and the unmonitored functioning of his body that it took him quite a while to notice the crimson bloom sprouting from the far side of his midriff.

They'd planted a rose in his stomach.

Had that been what the patting had been about? The woman had been settling the flower in its new pot, the way his mother would situate the tomato shoots in the spring.

Reflexively, he tried to raise his right hand so as to touch this addition to his person.

His arm was gone.

How inconvenient.

His left arm was still here, and though sluggish and clumsy, it was obedient enough. Shakily, he guided his hand by sight more than feel, as he was unable to feel most of his body, to the rose buried in his belly, not sure what to expect but most certainly not expecting what he felt.

It was squishy and warm, not at all like the roses he'd touched in his life. The sensation was surprisingly grotesque, like fondling a giant worm, and he took his hand away in disgust.

His fingers were tipped with red.

The rose was bleeding.

And then the lady was back and she was wiping his bloody fingers with a rust-stained rag.

"I'd advise you not to touch it. You're at quite the risk of infection and with how weak you are right now it won't take much to bump you from a bed to a box."

He stared at the rose made of blood and at the old woman cleaning his hand, and the longer he stared the more awake he came, the more he understood what he was seeing, and then the Fullmetal Alchemist was shrieking, a gargled, feeble shriek no louder than a puppy's cry.

The woman squeezed his hand, not out of sympathy but as a reprimand.

"Hush. It was either cut out the thing you turned your intestines into or let you die of toxic shock. You wanted us to save you, didn't you? Well, we have, and this is part of the price."

XXX

One of the nice things about living in a town of shepherds was that wool and its products were relatively cheap.

Mrs. Buxton (a name that adamantly described the woman, though only her husband dared say so) didn't ask for details when Edward Elric made a "personal request for a custom order." Perhaps he shouldn't have tried so hard to keep the explanation so formal, because when he arrived at her little quilting shop four days later to pick up his "personal custom order," the farmwife had concluded an explanation for herself.

"You know, darling, if you really want to commit to her, you ought to take the previous step first."

"Huh?" Ed looked up from his inspection of one the double-layered cloth pouches in the basket.

"Well, it's not proper, for starters. I know your parents didn't have the ceremony, but everyone knew, and the important thing was that they acted the way, until he left her, the scoundrel – well, I thought he was scoundrel, we all did, but that was before he came back to her, though it was far too late for him to take up being the gentleman and not just because your mother had passed, gods rest her soul –"

It wasn't until that moment that Edward realized what Mrs. Buxton was insinuating.

"I – what?!"

"Well, I'm just saying, it's just the kinder, righter thing to do, and it'll give her comfort to know that you want her for the result as well as the act –"

Ed's face had turned the color of a ripe beet.

"What?! No, no, that's not –"

Mrs. Buxton raised a bushy eyebrow.

"You don't want to conjugate the Rockbell girl?"

"I do! I mean, I think I –"

Ed struggled for breath and words, then sighed dejectedly.

"They're not for that."

He should have just taken the basket and left but Mrs. Buxton was looking at him expectantly and he knew that if he left without providing an alternative purpose for the woolen sacks, she would (understandably) assume that he'd lied to save face. As kind as she was, Ed knew what country women often turned to gossip for entertainment, and he didn't need to deal with that sort of story soaking into the population of Risembool… again.

So he defaulted to the method he'd used when he'd needed those around him to be aware of his automail – he showed her.

And like with his automail, he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the reaction.

It wasn't so bad when the response was enthusiastic or even fascinated, but more often than not he received exclamations of horror or worse, pity.

He let Mrs. Buxton stare and when he felt she'd stared enough, he pulled his shirt down and opened his eyes. The woman's expression was disturbed but he could tell it wasn't nearly as so as in the first moments of seeing.

"I was in an accident. The rubber chafes on my stomach. It's just kind of annoying."

Mrs. Buxton didn't ask what kind of "accident" he'd been in, she didn't need to. She knew his past as well as anyone else in the village. Ten minutes later, he left the shop, basket full of woolen pouches and a smaller wicker basket full of brown eggs. It wasn't uncommon for stores in farming villages to sell surplus crops and animal products alongside their chosen craft. Mrs. Buxton had given Edward all of her extra eggs from that morning free of charge.

Ed had refused but the woman had insisted and the look of pity – not sympathy, but crooning, frightened pity – had convinced him to take the gift so that he could leave the shop and the awkward atmosphere within it.

Edward returned to his house about two hours after he'd left. It was quite the walk from the Rockbell house to the Buxton farmstead, but Ed enjoyed the quiet and solitude and the excuse to move his body. His muscles were used to being pushed far beyond their limits, and between Alphonse's inability to spar during his recovery and the peace of valley life, Ed's limbs (including his metal one) were positively sparking with the need for exertion.

Den met him in the front yard, barking excitedly, and Pinako stepped onto the porch obediently to greet the newcomer the dog had announced.

The old woman waited for her surrogate grandson to meet her on the steps of the porch before speaking.

"We have plenty of eggs."

"We do now," he answered, ever the wiseacre. "She insisted," he added as an explanation.

Pinako cocked a brow, obviously wondering what Edward had done to cause a farmwife to thrust a basket of eggs in his face but didn't ask. She knew that if it concerned her, Edward would tell her, and if it didn't concern her, she didn't need to know.

Ed stepped passed her into the house. He heard a knife against a cutting board in the kitchen. The source of the sound proved to be his little brother beheading and deboning trout.

"Whoa, Al! That's a real haul!"

Alphonse glanced up from his work and gave his brother his trademark charming smile.

"I used the pickled roe from Mr. Downes. It really does work like a miracle."

He saw the eggs in his brother's basket and his expression turned bemused.

"Mrs. Buxton insisted," he answered without having to ask what Al's question was. "I guess she had more eggs than she could stand."

Al accepted this with a "hmm" of consideration.

"I have an idea. Just let me see if we have any onions or dill."

Ed watched his brother set down the knife and turn to the sink to wash the fish blood of his hands.

Every move Al made, every breath he took, every beat of his heart, was a pure joy to witness. The rubber could rub blisters into Ed's skin for all he cared, it was worth every callous and scar.

XXX

"Is it good? Was it good?!"

It was delicious.

Al had always been self-conscious about his cooking, even in the armor. Ed guessed this was because his lack of taste and smell made it impossible for him to know if what he made was edible and the habit had carried over into his human body.

"Is it –"

"If it wasn't good, we wouldn't have eaten it," Pinako pointed out gruffly, tactful as always. Her pipe wiggled between her teeth above her cleaned plate, they'd decided to eat outside on the porch, taking advantage of the beautiful evening.

Al pouted, the only thing in the world that was both obnoxious and wonderful (accept perhaps Winry, but it was terribly complicated).

"How do I know you're not just saying that to be nice?"

"Because Ed loved it and he's never nice," Winry reasoned. Ed glared at her.

Terribly complicated.

Al chewed on his lip, cogitating, then brightened. "You're right. He's horrible."

Winry laughed and Pinako smiled.

Infuriatingly complicated.

Edward had never heard of, let alone ever considered, the idea of fish-and-egg sandwiches, where the eggs were fried and one was placed on the plate, the fish on top of it, and a second egg on top of the fish. Al said he'd found it in a Cretian cookbook, which answered several questions. Cretians were infamous for their ridiculous yet delectable cuisine.

Ed made a show of pushing away from the table and grabbing one of the remaining bread rolls from the basket and marching into the house, stuffing the bread in his face as he went. He could hear Winry and Alphonse laughing from the second floor.

XXX

The first days had been agony.

The nurse said it was the stretching and pulling of scar tissue as his intestines remolded themselves and it would take some time for the pain to completely disappear. 

"Sometimes it takes years for the scars to finish settling. You'll just have to put up with it."

Edward had been shivering with pain, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead.

He said nothing.

He had nothing to say.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"It's not that awful. Just empty the pouch twice a day and clean it once a week. It should be easy enough to get you a spare one. Clean the stoma when you empty the pouch and watch out for itchiness or burning. The pouch could be leaking or the stoma could be getting infected. That's what the books say, anyway, for whatever they're worth."

Nothing besides the chattering of Ed's teeth.

The woman huffed.

"Well? Are we clear or do I have to repeat myself? The radio is about to broadcast and I'd rather not miss it –"

"There's a hole in me."

Somehow saying it made it more real than seeing it or touching it. Now that he'd acknowledged its existence, he would never be able to pretend it simply wasn't there. It was distressingly similar to when he'd woken up to find his arm and leg gone.

The woman grinned sardonically.

"Yes, you have a stoma and you will have it for the rest of your life. Other than that, I daresay nothing else about your life has changed."

And then she'd left him there, lying in his bed without his shirt, staring at the belt strapped around his abdomen, just above his belly button, and what looked like a rubber lung from a probably now dysfunctional respirator that was being held in place by it.

"There's a hole in me."

XXX

He hadn't been able to keep it a secret from his brother.

Al had needed him nearby to sleep through night in the hospital.

Nightmares were Alphonse's new companion in the night and he would often wake up wailing, calling for his brother and his mother, occasionally even his father. Ed had heard him shout for the posthumous Brigadier General Hughes, and though Ed couldn't be sure, he thought he'd heard a cry for the now Brigadier General Mustang.

Edward would crawl into his brother's bed, mindful of the intravenous lines snaking through the sheets and hold Al's trembling human body until the sun crossed the horizon.

Sometimes it had been Edward seeking comfort, needing a reminder that it was over and what happened next… it hadn't mattered what happened next.

Ed stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

This was what happened next.

It was a bit early to empty it, but he was eager to try Mrs. Buxton's covers. She'd already made him some sleeves that he could slip the harness through to keep the leather from biting into his skin (he ended up needing quite a few, as the wool would collect sweat and at the end of a summer day, the smell was atrocious).

Edward pulled his shirt over his head and quietly went about the business of unlatching the pouch from the harness (courtesy of the town leatherworker, it was far better than the makeshift one he'd worn for a nearly a year after the surgery) and turning it inside out into the toilet (a luxury in such a small village, automail was quite a profitable business), then pulling the chain and dabbing around the red circle with gauze wet with alcohol (he'd quickly become numb to the sting). It was a simple matter of pulling the wool cover over the rubber and clicking the pouch back into place.

Ed closed his eyes and sighed.

The absence of the sensation of rubber against his skin was magnificent.

Still though, he should probably rub some petroleum into the friction burns. It would take more than some wool to get rid of them.

XXX

He hadn't been able to hide it from the nurses and doctors.

Many of them took advantage of examining his body for infection and poor healing to study the anomaly that was his physical form.

They had, of course, been sworn to secrecy about the Fullmetal Alchemist's right arm, but Ed had doubted it mattered. Central Headquarters was a smoking crater a mile wide, an amputee apparently magically regaining his missing limb would probably be the last thing on the public's mind.

Edward had had to verbally request (demand) that they not say anything about the contraption around his stomach. The ones who knew what it was would give him advice and help him maintain it. Ed didn't mind them. The ones who didn't know stared at best and asked questions at worst. Ed tried not to mind them.

He hadn't been able to hide it from Alphonse, either.

His baby brother had had to relearn how to sleep, and with sleep came dreams, and in those dreams were nightmares.

Colonel Mustang had been pivotal in convincing the staff to allow the brothers to share a room; they had been reluctant because of Al's susceptibility to illness because of his malnourished condition. Al was basically allergic to everything; his body had forgotten how to deal with existence and couldn't tell dust from bleach.

They had expected as much, but it didn't lessen Edward's heartache that Alphonse's first sensation he refamiliarized was pain.

Al would cry out in the night because of nightmares, would cry out in the day from the stinging, itching rashes all over his body, would cry out because he could, could feel the sound in his throat and the tears on his face.

And Ed would hold him, his own bed forgotten, always mindful of the lines of fluids shunted into his brother's skin.

Sometimes, Al would do the holding and Ed would do the crying. He had forgotten how to cry in the years since their mother's death, had forced himself to forget, forced himself to be strong.

Edward taught Alphonse how to cry again and Alphonse taught Edward how to do it properly.

They had been lying together silently in the night, Al pawing at Ed's body, taking in the feel and smell of his big brother, the warmth of his skin and the sound of his breath.

Alphonse's fingers danced over the strap around Ed's waist.

"What happened, Brother?"

Ed wasn't sure of exactly when Al had seen it the first time, Al always seemed either asleep or inside his own mind except for in moments like these, where he could practice being human with the only person in the world who truly knew him.

Ed hadn't been sure of exactly how long it would take for Al to muster the nerve to ask him.

Ed hadn't been sure if he could muster the nerve to tell him.

He must have though, because he'd told Alphonse everything, and when he was done telling they both did the holding and the crying.

XXX

"Are you hurting?"

Edward looked up from the mug of hot chocolate he'd been nursing. He smiled lovingly at his brother.

"Are you?"

Alphonse smiled back and sat down on the porch steps next to Ed, his own mug in hand. The stars were always beautiful in the country. It was a bit warm for hot chocolate but Edward had wanted something sweet and Al had obliged him.

"I'm achy. In a good way," he added before Edward could even begin to consider panicking. "The kind of achy that tells me my sleep will be good tonight."

Ed sipped his drink before giving his own answer.

"I burned my tongue on the first swallow, but other than that, I'm fine."

Al's brows crinkled in worry and Ed sighed.

"Dinner is sitting fine. It's only really rich foods that hurt."

The nurse had been right, the scar tissue was still there after all these months, though it wasn't nearly as stiff as it had been. When he ate a particularly large meal or food that was hard to digest, his guts would pull against the scars that hadn't yet softened. The pain could be enough to only make him sit for a few minutes until it passed or terrible enough to make him hug himself and break into a shivering sweat.

At best, it was like he'd swallowed a sharp rock. At worst, it was like his guts were angry vipers trying to tear each other to pieces with their fangs.

There was nothing he could do about it but bear with it until it faded. It was consoling to know that it would most likely stop completely in the years to come.

They looked up at the stars and said nothing for a while.

"Are you going to tell Winry?"

"When it feels right."

When I'm ready. When she's ready. When we're both ready.

"What about Granny?"

"I would if I knew how. I still don't know if she'd not care or kill me."

Al chuckled and wrapped an arm over Ed's shoulders.

Ed let himself be held.

They spoke of other things until they were ready to go back inside.

XXX

Lions couldn't purr. They were far too large for that.

His fur was soft, though. Softer than he'd thought. He'd always assumed it would be rough, like sheep's wool.

Neither of them had ever spoken of these moments.

The chimera man would come in to check on Edward's progress, whether out of true concern or boredom Ed would never be sure. He would see Ed shaking, sucking air through his teeth, his arms wrapped over his ruined innards and shaking, shaking and gasping in place of sobbing, wet with tears and sweat.

When the pulling and the pain became too much, too much for Edward to bear or too much for Heinkel to watch, the man would shrug out of his shirt and shift, sprouting whiskers and fangs and mane.

He would bend over the cot, wet nose moving as he sniffed instinctively at the smell of sickness and sweat and medicine and fear, and Ed would reach up his quaking arm and run his trembling fingers through the tickly fur.

It was like petting Den when he was a child after being scolded particularly harshly by Granny.

He may have shoved his face into the lion's mane once or twice. If he had, it had been when the agony had been so awful, he'd been sure he was dying and could barely quiet his weeping.

Heinkel had never said a word. Ed knew he never would.

XXX

Winry had noticed he had stopped taking his shirt off in front of her.

When pressed, he would simply say that now that his real arm was back, she didn't need him to remove his shirt to maintenance his remaining automail.

She accused him of being shy.

He'd accused her of being hormonal.

She'd hit him with her wrench.

They'd both screamed when the blow reopened the scar above his eye and blood poured down his face.

Then he'd had to remove his shirt to change into one that wasn't covered in blood, though he did this in the bathroom where she couldn't see his new scars.

In any other relationship, these interactions would be considered battery, barring the fact that the one being battered was the man. But then, Edward and Winry had grown battered, and so treating each other in such a way was par the course in the world they lived in. An outsider looking in might find this very sad, but they had never known much different. Winry never meant to draw blood, but sometimes she would knock a healing injury or one that healed messily and the wound would break open and she was always apologetic and quick to stop the bleeding when it happened.

Most things about their relationship were strange to those who didn't know them.

So on nights when they were feeling particularly lonely or reminiscent of their hardships or simply cold, it was perfectly acceptable for Ed to crawl into Winry's bed as the moon began to rise in the sky. Alphonse would never be far behind him.

Then they would have to do some squirming and maneuvering, because Al was always in the middle and Ed was always on the edge and Winry was always by the window (Al was still struggling to keep his body temperature where it should be, Winry liked to hear the night birds and insects while she slept, and Ed had a habit of sticking out his metal leg when he was sleeping).

And that was how they were, two hours after they'd finished their cocoa, Edward snoring as he always did and he and Winry holding Alphonse between them, with trusty Den at their feet.

XXX

Edward flipped through the book, searching for any tidbits that might be useful to getting their bodies back. His brother sat beside him, wholly human (though Ed's mind did not seem to think this detail was important) and asked if the book said anything about frogs. Edward glanced at the pages and found them to be full of pictures of Roy Mustang making various poses and what little text there was appeared to be a recipe for laundry detergent.

Ed would later wonder if it was his brain attempting wash away the images his subconscious had created.

In the moment, Ed had apologized, showing Al the contents, to which Alphonse responded to by snatching the book out of his hands and screeching like a train pulling into the station while bodily shredding the book with his hands…

…then they were on a train and Edward was trying to write his report.

Mustang was there, and he kept on shouting at Ed to redo it, that it was too sloppy, that his handwriting was horrendous, and in a fit of rage and frustration, Ed stood up and dropped his pants, proceeding to urinate on the papers and the colonel –

Edward jolted awake and was barely able to roll off the bed and sprint/waddle to the water closet before he wet himself. That was what he got for drinking something that was three-fourths sugar before going to sleep.

The look on Mustang's face in his dream had been worth it, though.

It took him almost an hour to get back to sleep, and when he finally did, Den had plopped himself over his ankle…

…Little Envy, in his true form, lay snaked around his leg like a docile dragon. He wondered what the other Homonculi had looked like in their true forms. As if in answer, Greedling appeared (Ed defaulted to Greedling because he couldn't tell if it was Greed or Ling) and transformed into a frog. He then went on to explain that they were all actually various types of reptiles and amphibians, except for Father because he was a mink. Said mink then showed itself and stood on its hind legs to perform an impressive Mayday jig.

The frog asked him why he wasn't dancing.

Edward said he didn't know how to dance, which was true enough.

This answer did not please the Homonculi. Greedling/Frog insisted that he must dance and Envy wriggled on his ankle.

Edward protested, repeating that he did not know to dance nor did he care for dancing.

The frog's demands intensified and the mink danced harder. At some point that Ed hadn't seen, he'd donned a white dress coat and equally white fedora. As Ed watched, puzzling over wear the clothes had come from, the mink's teeth, eyes, and claws started to grow, bulging from its tiny body. The frog quickly followed suit, taking on the appearance of some sort of amphibious dinosaur, still commanding Edward to dance…

…it was getting darker, the shadows were lengthening and thinning like the silhouette of city at sunset…

…the eyes and teeth were everywhere, everywhere, he was tangled in the tendrils, he couldn't get away, they were wrapped around his arms and legs and pinning him down…

"Mmm… Brother? You okay?"

… He started to kick and flail as best he could, the teeth around his leg snarled and nipped at him…

"Brother, stop kicking Den. Brother? Ed, wake up!"

… It was going to break into his brain, it was going to eat his mind, steal everything he knew, rip him open and leave his empty carcass to dry and crumble…

"Brother, wake up, you're dreaming. It's okay, we're at home –"

"Huh… Al? Whassit?"

… The pointed faces pressed against his body, searching for the best place to bit, the soft part of his belly that would spill his organs if it was torn; in a surge of terrified adrenaline, he pulled his left arm free and swatted desperately at the serpentine heads…

"Brother's having a nightmare."

"Have you tried waking him up?"

"What do you think I've been trying to do, give him a massage?!"

…He regained enough control over his fine motor skills to get his hand around one of the snake-like maws, it felt oddly fuzzy and squishy but Ed was too frightened to ponder it…

"Brother, no!"

"Al? What's going on? What's he doing?"

… Edward tried to pry the teeth away from his skin and the jaws snapped down, catching on his belly and sending sharp pain spearing through him; the stinging added strength to his panic and he pulled harder, harder, harder…

"Brother, you're going to –"

Edward yanked the rubber pouch, wool cover and all, in a burst of pain and a shriek of terror.

XXX

Edward was sitting up in bed, shaking and sweating, his tummy throbbing and quickly turning wet. Al was desperately pressing the sheets against his waist, the fabric closest to his skin darkening in the moonlight.

"Shit, Brother!"

That got Ed's mangled attention. Edward could count on one hand how many times he'd heard Alphonse swear, and this was the first time Ed had heard him say that word.

He could hear peepers singing in the pond. That explained his brain's seemingly unprompted obsession with frogs.

"What? What's going on? Al? Ed?!"

Edward was not fully awake. He stared dumbly at the soiled sheets pressed against his stomach, then stared at the wool-covered leather in his hand.

He slowly woke up enough to realize what had happened.

Alphonse was frantically looked around, as if he expected the next step in this process to be handed to him.

"Um… um… okay… it's okay…"

They all knew anything that made Alphonse say "shit" was far from okay. Winry, a physician from birth, looked over Al's shoulder and studied what she could see in the moonlight. She crawled over the boys and out of the bed and grabbed the kerosene lamp from atop her dresser. She lit it with a match and turned the wick down, making sure to adjust the mirror before she brought as near the bed as she dared without risking dripping oil or igniting the sheets.

She saw the combination of red and green. She was too stricken by fear and her surgical instincts to notice the pouch in Ed's hand.

"We need to get him to the bathroom. I'll get the bandages and alcohol. Al, get Granny once you get Ed to the bathroom."

"No!"

The protest startled her and she glanced up, noticing for the first time that Ed was holding something.

"It's not that bad. Really!" he answered her consternated expression. "It… I just need to get to the W.C. and clean up –"

"Ed, you are bleeding from your intestines! I can see the digestive juices!"

Al wrinkled his nose. She didn't need to mention that they could smell vomit and blood.

"What's that in your hand?"

Ed glanced at the pouch as if he didn't know what it was.

"It's… it's a…"

"Can we discuss this when you're not squirting bodily fluids all over me?!" Alphonse barked, a smattering of his brother's temper smoldering awake. "I'll take him to the water closet," he said to Winry, nudging his brother off the bed with the pressure he was putting on the blankets. "You get the suture kit and the alcohol. Trust me," he said when Winry opened her mouth to question him.

She trusted him.

XXX

Alphonse's spine ached from bending over his brother by the time they reached the washroom. Al practically threw Edward onto the toilet and dared to take his hands away for the first time since this catastrophe began.

If he'd been anyone else, he probably would have retched, or at least gagged.

Being who he was, he simply returned the fabric to the bit of sliced gut sticking out of his brother's belly.

"It doesn't look to bad. I think it's bleeding more because it's long instead of deep." They probably still couldn't bandage it, though. Al didn't want to risk irritating the ho – stoma, it was called a stoma – anymore than could be helped.

Edward had started shivering ever so slightly, just enough for Al to notice by the tiny vibration against his fingers and the stutter of his brother's jaw. He had seen Ed in shock many times and knew that Ed knew how to deal with it, but it still hurt to see him have to deal with something that should have been left behind.

Winry came in, a small leather case in one hand and the lit lamp in the other, the bottle of surgical alcohol sloshing in between her arm and ribs. Ed and Al's night vision had still been strong enough for them to be able to make their way from the bedroom to the bathroom, but Al and Winry would need more light for this.

"Al…"

Alphonse looked into his brother's wide eyes and saw what Edward was struggling to say.

"Thanks, Winry. You can –"

As if she hadn't heard him, Winry grabbed the sheets in Al's hands and tried to tug them away.

"Winry!" Al exclaimed.

"Al!" Winry countered. "I have to see where he's bleeding from if I'm going to stitch him!"

"I can stitch him. You go back to bed. You've been working on automail all day –"

"What's gotten into you? Both of you?!"

"Brother… he… he's been…"

"I'm fine, Win," Ed managed to wring out. "Just… please let Al do it."

Winry pursed her lips, her brow furrowed as she considered.

"All right," she said, "I'll leave. On one condition. Have either of you stitched a wound before?"

Al felt the blood drain from his face in embarrassment and realization. He looked his brother in the eyes. Edward looked like he might have been at risk of being sick if there wasn't already a hole in his stomach.

"Right," she said, her face set determinedly. "Then I'm not leaving. And I need you to take the sheets away so I can see what the hell's going on!"

She snagged the blankets and pulled.

"Winry, wait –"

She didn't bother listening to Al this time.

When she saw Edward's intestine protruding from his skin, her eyes grew the size of saucers and she stumbled on her own feet, nearly dropping the lamp.

Edward swallowed and trembled.

"I, uh… Winry, I have to tell you something."

XXX

Den had been forgotten in the hullabaloo.

The scents of bile, fish, eggs, and blood made a trail from the bed to the washroom.

He had been trained to stay out of rooms that smelled of blood. He settled for sitting outside the doorway, keeping guard out of instinct. When he was finally noticed by his girl's friend, he was surprised when the boy gestured for the dog to enter.

Den did, and he saw something he did not see often.

His girl was holding her boy, her arms around and his shoulders and his face buried in her hair. It was usually the other way around. The boy's brother squeezed his shoulder with one hand and used the other to scratch Den behind the ears.

Soon his girl's boy joined in, and the next moment his girl was laughing tearfully as the dog became the center of attention.

XXX

It was exponentially easier to suture Edward when he was distracted by a dog.

Her deft hands had closed the wound and tied off the twine as simply as lacing and tying a boot, even when the string was wet with sterilizing alcohol. He hissed when she patted the stitches with soaked gauze and took the liberty of dabbing the stoma so Edward could replace the pouch and belt, which Al had fixed with his alchemy.

"I've read about colostomies," Winry said when they were done, "but the only examples I could ever find were pretty crude. I saw a schematic for pouch-and-belt contraption but not a lot about when and how it's used. Who did you say did your surgery?"

Before Ed could answer, the sound of feet on the floor made them turn to the threshold.

Pinako appeared, hair tousled from sleep and mumbling incoherently to the night, guiding herself by feel just as much as adjusted eyesight.

"What in heaven's name are you three doing at this time of night?!"

She reached the water closet.

In the lamp light, she saw the ruined sheets and her grandchildren around (or in Edward's case, on) the toilet.

She glanced at Ed's abdomen.

She sighed.

"Of course you got your guts ripped out. I shouldn't be surprised. Fleas have tiny brains, after all."

When dawn came that morning, it was the shouting of the Rockbells and the Elrics that woke the rooster.


	2. To Deal in the Dead Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward knew he had given up a piece of himself to heal the wound Kimblee had given him in the mine shaft. It had never occurred to him that the might have left a piece of himself behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.
> 
> It's 2 in the morning, my sleep schedule's messed up and I had an Irish coffee so I can't sleep and this has gotten way too long but it's not done so here's the first part I'll finish it later k bye.
> 
> Also, warnings for kinda medical horror. It's one of those boring talking chapters so feel free to click and leave. I won't blame you.
> 
> Imma eat a cookie.

Edward realized he was awake and immediately wished he wan’t.

He lay in the rapidly cooling bed, the crowing of a cockerel and the baying of cattle audible through the wall of the house. After a good half an hour, he conceded that he was not going to go back to sleep and shifted his stiff body out of the sheets and onto the cold floor. It was with great reluctance that he dragged himself across the room and down the hall to the water closet to urinate, change his pouch, and brush his teeth and hair.

He stared at his reflection, noticing the small bag of fat forming under his chin. Now that he was no longer eating for both himself and his brother, he’d found that eating less was causing him to gain more.

Granny had said that it was just a part of getting older.

Winry had said that it was a part of being lazy.

Granny had said that was also a part of getting older.

Ed yawned and threw a fresh shirt over himself.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to stop him from making bacon and eggs and mushrooms in a frying pan with a hot cup of coffee.

Coffee.

Ed decided that nothing was going to stop him from getting his morning cup of coffee.

XXX

Al had made him some hash browns and toast about an hour ago, judging by how cold they were. Ed threw them back into the skillet for a few minutes to get hot again and took the whole meal outside to eat on the porch. Alphonse was there, sitting in his favorite rocking chair, empty plate and mug on a stool beside him as he lay back with his eyes closed. At first, Ed thought his brother had fallen asleep while perusing the view. Then he spoke with such abruptness that Edward nearly dropped his breakfast.

“Told Winry you weren’t dead.”

“I’m sure she’ll be disappointed to hear the news.”

Edward sat down in his own chair and forked a mouthful of bacon and eggs and mushrooms.

“On the contrary, she enjoys having you around… for the retirement pension.”

Al half-opened a golden eye and somehow managed to convey an entire face-full of mischievousness.

But Ed was not to be intimidated.

“She doesn’t need me for that. I gave it to you in my will.”

This was true, even if it was a joke in the current context.

“Well, she’d miss your chiseled body and stable embrace. We both know my arms are still too weak to hold her the way she likes it.”

Ed stood up, taking care to place his plate and coffee on the nearest flat surface (Winry’s empty chair). Al had crossed a line.

Even if Edward had managed to say anything, Alphonse wouldn’t have heard him. He was laughing too loudly. Whatever vengeful outburst Ed had prepared died at the sight of his baby brother laughing to the point of choking. He would have gone through it all a hundred times over just to have the privilege of thumping Al on the back to keep him from suffocating on his own giggles.

When they had both caught their breath enough to hear something other than each other, they both looked up at the sound of hooves.

Mack Anderson, the village postman, was leading his pony up the road from the town nestled among the fields of wheat and sheep. The brothers watched him, both now fully awake.

“He’s out awfully early,” Al commented, standing up from his chair to see better. “He never comes all the way out here unless it’s important.”

“Must be important, then,” Ed logically concluded.

He and Al shared a glance and an unspoken conversation, then Edward clambered off the porch and started trekking down the gravel pavement to meet the man and his steed halfway.

Mr. Mack was wearing a heavy riding jacket. Ed realized that Risembool must be entering fall if it was that chilly in the mornings now.

“Hey, Mr. Mackin’, what’s a’ crackin’?” Edward greeted him with the same sing-song phrase that the village children had used for as long as he could remember.

Mr. Crackin’ Mackin’ looked down his beard at the man who was boy compared to himself. Edward had never once seen him smile.

“Go fuck yourself.”

This was the response the man had given for as long as Edward could remember.

Ed’s grin widened and he finished the ritual with a sarcastic bow.

“I will most certainly try.”

Ed straightened, still beaming.

“What’cha got for me today, Mr. Mack?”

“Urgent package from Central.”

Edward had been joking. It took him an embarrassing fifteen seconds to realize that Mack Anderson was not.

Ed’s smile slid off his face.

“Is… is it from the brigadier general?”

Mustang was the only person in Central that Edward could think of who might send him an “urgent package.”

“Don’t fuckin’ know,” Mack answered characteristically. He pulled a white postal folder out of his limp letter satchel and all but thrust it up Ed’s nose. Edward took it and brought it away from his face so he could read the names of the sender and receiver.

That was definitely “Edward Elric” typed on sticker paper.

It was _typed_.

Oh, shit.

Before Ed could ask anything else, Crackin’ Mack wheeled his pony around the young man and started his way back home. It wasn’t as if he would have answered if Ed _had_ asked anything.

XXX

When Edward got back to the porch, he found Alphonse waiting with his now steaming breakfast.

“It got cold so I transmuted it to make it hot,” he explained, trading the folder for the plate and cup.

“Did you put your fingers in it?” Ed asked, half joking, half serious.

“I transmuted the water in and around it, I’m surprised you didn’t hear the popping.”

Al turned the folder over in his hands while his brother ate. He whistled when he saw the typed letters.

“A _typewriter_ , huh? This is official. D’you think it’s from the brigadier general?”

“If it is, why didn’t he just put his name on it?”

“Maybe it’s official.”

“Why would he send me official intel? I’m not a State Alchemist anymore.”

“Maybe it’s money. Maybe the new regime is sending us our overdue one billion Cenz for saving Amestris!”

Ed nearly choked on a mushroom.

“Do you really think they’d give it to us if they had it?!”

Alphonse didn’t answer. He was ripping open the folder and pulling out the contents. A sheaf of papers, crisp and professional, slid out of its packaging. Al thumbed through the stack, studying how many pages it was made of.

“What’s it say?” Ed asked over his coffee. He knew that the papers were addressed to him, but he never passed up an opportunity to watch his brother’s facial expressions.

“‘To the esteemed Mister Edward Elric, formerly known as the State Alchemist Fullmetal:

‘We at the University of Amestris in Central City hope that this missive finds you in good health. Your service to our country can never be properly appreciated or earned…’ blah, blah, blah… bend over so we can kiss your ass –”

Ed managed to bring his cup to his face before he spat his coffee.

“Hey! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“I’m sixteen, I can say whatever I want!”

“Well, I’m the older brother so –”

“So you’ll die first. And if you don’t shut up, you’ll die before I finish reading this.”

Edward growled and sipped the coffee he’d just spit out.

Al skimmed through the introduction, which ended up being the entire first page, and finally found the body of the essay.

“‘We thank you again for your generous donation last year to our institution’s medical department for study and your permission to place the specimen on display in the Central City Museum of Natural History…’”

Al’s voice trailed away and he looked up at Ed.

Ed stared back, open-mouthed so that the mouthful of eggs he’d been chewing was disgustingly visible. He caught himself, swallowed, and reached out for the papers.

“Al, let me see that –”

“Brother, what is this?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I need to see it!”

Alphonse handed his brother the page he’d been reading and took to perusing the ones below it.

_…for the education and betterment of the people. It is with these objectives in mind that we humbly ask that you repeat your kindness with the defunct viscera recovered from Fort Briggs, North District (approximation)._

_Under the recently legislated Corporeal Prerogative of the Individual Act, established by Fuhrer Grumman February 3 rdof this year – _

Edward remembered hearing about that on the radio while eating the apple pie Winry had made for his birthday. He knew it was one of the many “human rights” laws Mustang had said he would petition for in lieu of the Bradley regime.

_– it is forbidden to manipulate, remove from, or add to an individual’s body in any way without the individual’s consent, not excluding of the body or section of body is no longer connected to the individual. In accordance with the CPIA, we cannot recourse the defunct viscera as long as you retain ownership of the defunct viscera, which can only be relinquished by you explicitly (such as through written correspondence or personal conference._

The verbosity was giving Ed a migraine.

“Hey, Al? What’s a viskra?”

“A what?”

“A viskra. V-I-S-C –”

“Do you mean _viscera?_ The C is silent.”

Reading through the nights of the past four years had made Alphonse a walking encyclopedia.

“That thing. What is it?”

“It’s your internal organs. Your insides. Y’know, your lungs, heart, stomach, intestines, kidneys… basically everything that’s not bone and you can’t eat it.”

Ed thought about pointing out that, in the event that the body in question was human, _none_ of it should be eaten.

_Defunct viscera._

Edward knew that “defunct” meant “broken.” He’d heard Winry scream at him that he’d made his automail “defunct” more times than he could count.

Defunct viscera.

Broken insides.

Broken…

_…recovered from Fort Briggs…_

“Brother? Brother, you’ve turned green. What’s wrong?”

XXX

Edward knew he had given up a piece of himself to heal the wound Kimblee had given him in the mine shaft.

It had never occurred to him that the might have left a piece of himself behind.

The letter contained an extension – one Doctor Tanner Atkins, professor of surgery and medicine at Central City University – and Ed barked at the frightened Risembool operator to connect him to Central, then demanded the terrified Central City operator to put him through to the university, then the unimpressed receptionist to give him Doctor Atkins.

Doctor Atkins was ecstatic.

“Major – I mean, Mister Elric! How wonderful, you received my correspondence regarding the –”

_“How the hell did you get my body parts and what parts do you have?!”_

Stunned silence.

“I… I’m sorry, Mister Elric, I’m afraid I don’t understand –”

“The fu –” Ed caught himself. Al had made him promise to work on his swearing if Al promised to take it easy with physical therapy (when Alphonse’s weak legs had given out during a morning walk and he’d scraped his palm on the gravel road, Edward had been in hysterics; with Al’s immune system being what it was, Ed wasn’t sure his brother could survive an infection).

He took a deep breath and started again.

“I have no memory of making a _donation_ to your organization. Would you please clarify what _specimen_ I am supposed to have _donated_?”

An awkward silence.

“Ah. I’m beginning to see the confusion. The ‘donation’ my correspondence refers to was brought to us before the legislation of the CPIA, and so contact with the original owner of the removed tissue was not a legal obligation. Even so, I was under the impression that the practitioners who removed the tissue had informed you of their plans for it and you had given your consent.”

More awkward silence.

“Was their petition fraudulent?”

Edward didn’t know when he’d wrapped an arm around his stomach, his right hand pressing over the belt and pouch and scar beneath.

He felt suddenly ill.

“Mr. Elric? Are you there?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’re there? You certainly sound present.”

“No, I don’t… I don’t know if I… gave consent.”

He’d said things during his recovery.

The words were blurred, their meanings fuzzy, like a conversation he’d had in a deep dream.

He hadn’t cried out – he never cried out, never screamed, couldn’t bear the idea of Al seeing him like that…

He’d begged for Winry when the spasms had become too much, and Heinkel’s mane appeared instead, his composure had cracked and he’d sobbed into the lion’s fur.

“…Well, um… I see… I suppose you must have been heavily medicated after the procedure… perhaps you agreed and did not remember or you agreed without understanding what you were agreeing to or…”

The sound of papers shuffling.

Edward was beginning to feel dizzy, he needed a chair.

“I believe I have a possible solution, if you would hear it.”

Ed wouldn’t have answered if he could.

“We need a response from you, either in writing or in person, on whether or not you release ownership of the defunct viscera –” The phone shook in Ed’s hand as he shivered – “so I propose that you pay a visit to Central. We can have an in-depth discussion and settle this matter. Is that doable for you?”

“Um…”

“The university will pay for all expenses – transportation, lodgings, food. We can schedule the meeting for whenever is most convenient for you. It is not an exaggeration when I say that we are completely at your service.”

_Please don’t sue us_.

Edward choked on the laughter in his throat.

“Brother? It’s gone awfully quiet, are you –”

Upon seeing Ed’s pale face, Al swiftly fetched a chair from the kitchen and shoved his brother into it, taking the phone from Ed’s hand as he did so. He heard Alphonse begin speaking with Doctor Atkins. He couldn’t focus on their conversation.

There was no way that the clinicians had given the university the pieces of his insides they’d cut out of him for free. Maybe they’d charged some outrageous shipping fee or claimed that Ed had donated the ruined bits of him to the doctor who’d saved him, who had then decided to sell them to the field of education out of the goodness of his heart.

It didn’t matter how it had happened.

He was on display.

He’d been dissected and studied, preserved and shelved, like an addition to a biological alchemist’s collection of pickled deformities.

**_His_** _deformity_ –

“Okay… okay, thank you, doctor… no, no, this isn’t your fault… we’ll see you on Saturday. Bye.”

He heard the _click_ of Al putting the phone up and then his brother’s twiggy fingers were grasping his shoulders.

“Brother, I… It’s… Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Al.”

It was a knee jerk reaction, to brush off his brother’s concerned touches and hide his distress behind a wall of indifference. It was stupid, anyway. All they wanted was Ed’s permission to have something Ed no longer needed.

And it was for science!

Who was Edward to stand in the way of science?

He had simply been surprised. Who wouldn’t have been?

But he was fine now.

It was fine.

Ed stood from the chair and stretched leisurely, as if he’d been waiting patiently for Alphonse to finish his call.

“So, what do you want to do today? Wanna go into town and grab some ice cream sodas at the drug store?”

Al’s worry was immediately replaced with amused exasperation (which was Edward’s intention exactly).

“Brother, you just had breakfast. Don’t you think it’s a little early for ice cream sodas?”

“It’ll be noon by the time we get there if we walk. We can have lunch at the inn!”

“It’s ten-thirty now. It’ll still be thirty minutes to noon by the time we get there.”

“Brunch then.”

“No one has ice cream sodas for brunch.”

“We’re not no one,” Ed let his face break into a conceited grin. “I’m the former State Alchemist and your my baby brother, which means I can do whatever I want and I can tell you what to do.”

“No, you can’t! I’m sixteen, I’m a grown man, no one can tell me what to do!”

Al said this as he led the way to the front door.

“But I’m not no one.”

“Remember what Teacher said about popularity – being famous doesn’t make you smarter.”

“Yeah, it just means that no one cares if you’re stupid.”

“But you’re not no one.”

Al broke into a sprint, jumping off the front porch and jogging up the road before his big brother could tackle him.

XXX

Friday night came faster than Edward liked.

His dreams were odd and incoherent.

He was trapped in the rubble on the Promised Day, a metal rod spitting the meat of his shoulder, the pain dulled by the knowledge that it was over, it was _over_ , they’d failed, they were all going to die, but at least they would all go at once and it was _over_ …

And Father came, staggering like an undead in a ghost story, and he was going to drink Ed’s soul like it was a particularly exotic tea…

He reached into Ed’s mouth with his failing fingers, pinching Ed’s tongue and pulling it from between his teeth, but instead of just his tongue all of his insides came snaking out, like a ribbon from a magician’s sleeve. Father laid out the stalk of organs on the ground, presenting it where all could see, and everyone was suddenly there, crowding around him and studying his insides and Edward lay there, forgotten, feeling like a discarded package who’s contents had been collected.

The crowd turned Ed’s inner workings this way and that, commenting on the color of his lungs and the length of his intestine.

And then Kimblee was there, standing in front of him, looking down at him, his suit as crisp and white as ever.

“We’ve seen his viscera. I wonder what his nerves look like?”

Kimblee plunged his hand into the hole in Edward’s stomach, the hole he’d put there, and Ed could feel him ripping his spine from his back, feel his brain being sucked from his skull and it was like his entire body was an automail port and Kimblee had decided to fiddle with the wires –

And then he was awake, drenched with sweat and shaking.

Winry had woken him, her hand still on his right shoulder from shaking him. The scar tissue from the automail tingled.

“Breathe, Ed. It’s all right. You were dreaming.”

Her face rippled with the flickering of the oil lamp on the bedside table.

“Your humerus pinched your brachial nerve again,” she said, squeezing Ed’s shoulder until he felt the ball shift in the socket and the tingling vanished in a stinging burst. The automail port had distorted the ligaments, making them loose and letting the bones shift so that they sometimes caught muscle and nerves between them. Winry said that the cartilage would tighten up in time, but until then, Ed sometimes felt like he had an automail arm all over again.

Edward trembled against her like a frightened rabbit, not sure what to say and so choosing to say nothing.

Instead, when Winry removed her hand to wipe his bangs from his sticky forehead, he lifted his shirt off, letting the cold night air evaporate the perspiration. Winry blew out the lamp and settled into the bed next to him, pulling the blankets off him and using them to cover the sweaty sheets, like she did when he had a fever while recovering from the surgery.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you tomorrow?” She asked for the fifth time since Al had told he where they were going and why.

“No,” he answered instantly, cringing at the quiver in his voice. “No, this… this has nothing to do with you.”

“Anything to do with you has to do with me. You’re my patient, Ed, and I’m worried about your health.”

“Al’s already coming, I’ll be fine.”

Winry sighed. He felt her breath on his bare back. A sudden urge, physical and embarrassing, bloomed in his belly and he resisted the impulse to either turn around and hold her against him or squirm towards the wall.

Neither of them spoke after that.

They slept and there were no more dreams.

XXX

Edward had forgotten how much he enjoyed trains.

He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed being pampered because of his status.

He was no longer a State Alchemist, but his endeavors were well known, especially on this line. Ed and Al were treated to hot, gooey brownies in cold ice cream in their car, per Ed’s request. At Alphonse’s insistence that they have something healthy for lunch, Ed added a couple of sandwiches to their tab. When asked what he wanted them, Ed asked for bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, and extra mayonnaise.

Al sighed at the counter-productivity of it all, but said nothing.

As they got closer to Central, the fields and farmhouses grow smaller and closer together, and Alphonse watched as his brother seemed to grow smaller and closer together with them.

“Brother? I know we haven’t been back to Central for awhile –” They actually hadn’t been back since they’d left the hospital a month after the Promised Day, Ed’s left arm healing and both of the brothers in physical therapy to strengthen atrophied muscles, but strong enough to perform the exercises on their own. “ – so if you want, maybe we could go see the colonel – I mean, the brigadier general, and the Hughses. We can always call the university back.”

_We don’t have to do this._

You _don’t have to do this._

Edward gave Al a withering glare that was just so Ed-like that Alphonse couldn’t keep himself from smiling, though the smile was slightly sad.

“I ain’t nervous, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve seen my insides loads of times. You see one hunk of cut beef, you’ve seen ‘em all.”

“Yeah, but… Brother, _lots_ of people have seen your insides now. They might want… You know, it’s okay for you to say no, right?”

Ed snorted, stretching out on the compartment seat, his new layer of belly fat rising and falling as he breathed.

“What would they want, my autograph? ‘Hey, I saw your guts at the museum, will you sign my son’s shoes he wore when he was a baby?’ How would they even know it was _my_ guts? Do they have my name on them, or something?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Ed knew he didn’t want to know the answer.

Al saw on Ed’s face that he didn’t want to know the answer.

XXX

Ed was used to being poked awake by Al.

He was not used to being poked awake by the stewardess.

Al sat across from him, blinking sleep from his own eyes.

“Um... sir, I’m sorry, but we’ve arrived.”

Edward stared at her, yawned, stretched, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a ten-thousand Cenz bill at the woman’s dress.

“Brother!”

Alphonse was awake now.

In response to his brother’s outburst, Ed chucked a second bill, this time more accurately aimed at the stewardess’s upper body.

Alphonse grabbed their luggage and Edward and swiftly departed.

XXX

Ed had been to the university with Al once to peruse the library.

Edward had learned many things about university’s students and very little about its library.

After a displaying jock trying to get his female classmates to look at him decided to call Ed “a little lolly sucker” and Ed had responded with breaking the young man’s collarbone with a well-aimed sock to the shoulder which had left him sobbing on the carpeted floor, Alphonse had scooped up his brother as if he was a particularly aggressive alley cat and clomped back to the military dorms as fast as his sabatons could carry them.

In the months following, Alphonse had been the only one to set foot on the campus to borrow books and occasionally buy food from the university’s café. Many months following this, Edward found himself being led across the common area by a smiling Al who looked perfectly at home among the arcing buildings pocked with windows.

Few students or staff looked their way, and if they did, it was only a glance. It occurred to Ed that they probably looked like students, in their budding manhood and cases in their hands, arriving at the dormitory on their own schedule or on their way to a lecture.

He studied his brother’s contented expression and wished one of those were true.

XXX

The Hall of the Sciences, whose name did not reflect the creativity of the architect who designed it, felt more like a church to Edward than a house of learning. The stone dome through which they entered the Hall was deathly silent, every whisper echoing up into the curved ceiling. Students sat on benches or on the marble floor, reading textbooks or writing papers (sometimes both) while muted speech rumbled from behind the large oak doors on the far side of the room.

“That’s the lecture hall. These students are for the next class,” Al whispered just loud enough for his voice to resonate in the silence but not enough for his words to go with it.

“How do you know that?” Ed asked as Al took him by the arm and pulled into a side hall.

“I would attend lectures sometimes while you were reading or sleeping.”

“And they let you?!”

Alphonse shrugged.

“The professors are paid to dole out knowledge, not to be picky about who that knowledge gets doled out to.”

They had also probably been too intimidated by the armor to say anything, Ed thought as the encroaching walls of the corridor soaked up any excess sound, making it acceptable to speak at a typical volume.

The brothers passed by several closed doors. When they came across one that was open, they would catch a glimpse of classes being held in conference rooms or experiments taking place in laboratories. The air smelled of gas candles and diluted bleach and… was that the metallic scent of transmutations?

By the time they reached the staircase leading to the professors’ offices, Al was dragging Ed up the stairs while Ed was craning his neck to look this way and that, looking for a tell-tale flash of blue from an open door or a passing student carrying a book with an array on the cover.

XXX

When they passed by the door with the plaque that proudly proclaimed _Professor of Alchemy_ , Edward squealed and pointed like a schoolgirl at the window of a pet shop.

“Yes, Brother, they teach alchemy here. Come one, I’m sure the professor is busy and we’re late for our meeting with Doctor Atkins – here it is” He knocked beneath the plaque reading _Doctor Tanner Atkins, Professor of Surgical Medicine_.

The door opened nearly instantaneously.

“Mister Elric! Um – _Misters_ Elric! Welcome! Please, come in! I – _We_ are honored to –”

“Do you have a professor of medical alchemy?!”

Doctor Atkins stared, open-mouthed.

Al brought a hand to his face.

Ed danced on his toes with anticipation.

Then Alphonse started laughing, and then Doctor Atkins started laughing, and Ed started asking what was so funny.

XXX

“We don’t have a professor of medical alchemy per se, but one could pursue studies in both medicine and alchemy to become a medical alchemist, if that is your question.”

“Where’s the alchemy professor?” Ed launched into his next questions without preamble.

“Professor Bryan Reeves is in the lecture hall, explaining the structure and properties of esters.”

They were walking down the hall to the staircase, from where the professor would lead them to the storage facilities on the lower floors.

Ed made a rude noise.   
  


“A whole lecture on _that_?! Esters are easy, they’re just acids that’ve been mixed with alcohol.”

“You know that, Brother, but the students don’t know that. That’s why they’re learning about it now.”

“Couldn’t they have learned that from reading the book?”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t have Dad’s notes, Brother.”

“They shouldn’t need Hohen – Dad’s notes to understand it, it’s basic!”

“Not everyone learns the way you do, Brother. That’s why the world isn’t made up of you’s. And thank God for that!”

“Hey!”

The brothers continued squabbling as they descended the stairs and as Doctor Atkins unlocked the steel doors to the storage facilities. The cold air that rushed over them shiver.

The overpowering smell of dung made Ed’s nose wrinkle.

“What the –”

The squeaking of mice answered his question.

“For medicinal experiments, I assure you,” the professor clarified at the boys’ horrified expressions. “We keep the chimeras in the lab on the far side. Strictly rodents and reptiles and all carefully regulated and cared for. We see them as members of the research team rather than simple subjects and treat all specimens with respect.”

“What about the ones who die?”

Doctor Atkins smiled sympathetically as he unlocked another set of steel doors.

“Many of them are kept for dissections for biology students. Once that’s done, they’re buried in a field maintained by ecology department. The spiritualism students hold a funeral for them every three months.”

This seemed to place Al’s mind at ease, but Ed made a face.

“You have spiritualist classes?”

“In the Hall of Sociology, yes. Sometimes, even people of science need to be a part of something bigger than themselves.”

“They are. It’s called _science_.”

“Brother! We’ve talked about this.”

Before Alphonse could repeat his spiel on the importance of open-mindedness, Doctor Atkins brought them into an even colder room that smelled of formaldehyde. Al couldn’t keep himself from hugging himself to keep warm. The walls were lined with lockers. Doctor Atkins read the placards on the lockers, moving from one to the other, until he found the one he was looking for. He unlocked it, opened it (making the room even colder and setting Al’s teeth to chattering; Ed held his brother close to him to warm him up), read the placards on the trays inside until he found the correct one, then pulled what looked like an oven mitt onto his hand and slid the tray from the locker, placing it on the table behind him.

It looked like a steak.

If it hadn’t smelled like preservatives, Ed would have probably mistaken it for one.

“I’m told the Briggs soldiers found it while looking for… after you’d disappeared,” the professor said, glancing at Edward and away again.

“They would have thought you dead but couldn’t find the rest of you and there were no bear sightings in the ruins where they found it. The only explanation was that someone had taken you and left this bit behind, and they couldn’t think of a reason for why they would collect your corpse if not to deliver it to the fortress.”

Ed needed a chair again.

“Wait.. so Briggs had this – _has_ had this – for a year?! And they’re telling us now?!” Alphonse’s face was far too pale for Ed’s liking.

“Well… they were a bit distracted by the…” Atkins made a vague waving gesture as euphemism for the Promised Day and the days coming before and after. “And once it was over, they had other matters attend to… I’m told they’re still dealing with the casualties, ensuring that deceased’s remains and their belongings are returned to their loved ones. That’s where they found this.”

“They found my brother’s kidney in storage?!”

“In the morgue. Although what with the number of dead as a result of the… skirmishes, I doubt there’s much of a difference.”

Edward stumbled to the wall and settled for leaning against, trying to make the action look like one of boredom rather than weakness.

“There was no identification aside from an explanation form a Briggs captain, so it was sent here for sequence matching. Doctor Reeves and I performed the procedure together. The gene sequence is identical.”

“Identical to what?”

Atkins glanced at and away from Ed again. Ed pretended to study the thinness of the fingers on his right hand.

“The, ah… other specimen. The one in the museum. They both from originate from Mister El – your brother.”

There was an awkward silence.

Ed sighed, as if exasperated, and returned to the table with the tray.

He forced himself to look.

If Ed had to guess, it was about the size of his fist and obviously squished, its flushed innards visible through the tear splitting it open.

He imagined what it must have looked like inside of him, full of blood and life, working in tandem with his other organs to keep him alive despite every crisis he threw his body into.

Edward was suddenly overcome with the oddest wave of grief.

“So… what would you like to become of it?”

Ed didn’t take his eyes off of the small hunk of meat that he had been born with and would now die without - it was a very strange thought – and pursed his mouth.

“Can you put it back in me?”

Doctor Atkins smiled sadly.

“Well, I could certainly have it arranged… but, since it’s expired, at best your body will dissolve it into basic components for reuse. At worst, the bacteria that’s surely taken root within it will send you into toxic shock, most likely resulting in your death.”

“Which one is more likely?”

“The second one.”

“So it’s not really useful to me anymore.”

The words sent another pang of confused mourning through him.

“Well, if I can’t use it, I might as well give to someone who can.”

Atkins visibly perked up.

“So you’ll release ownership?”

“I’m pretty sure I did the day it got punched outta me.”

“Wonderful! I’ll draft up the paperwork immediately – it’s only one page and I have to do most of the signing, don’t worry. What time is it? I’ll arrange dinner – at my complete expense, of course –”

“What about the other one?”

The professor was pulled from his celebration with the abruptness of a blown-out car engine.

“I’m sorry?”

Al’s tone was light, but his face was dark with sincerity.

“The one the doctors in the north gave you without my brother’s consent? What about that one?”

“Al, we don’t have to –”

“It’s on display inn a public museum for everyone to see! I think… I think you should see what everyone is seeing before you decide if you want them to see it or not.”

“If you want to see the specimen, it would be my honor to show you. Or, if you simply wish to request it be removed from the exhibit, your desire will be carried out posthaste.”

Ed could tell that the professor did not want to remove the specimen from the exhibit.

He could also see that his brother did not want him to make a decision without having all the available information.

And he did not want either of them to see how badly he just wanted this to be over.

So he might as well get it over with.

He blew out a sigh.

“Okay, let’s see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, one of the long boring talking ones not much to see here.
> 
> I'm thinking about starting an Ace attorney story, but I haven't finished SoJ and I haven't played the Miles games so I don't think I have enough knowledge of the lore yet.


	3. To Deal with the Dead Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brother?” 
> 
> Edward’s body gave an almighty shudder and he made a noise that sounded lime something between a gasp and hiccup. 
> 
> “It has teeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry flibbin' Christmas and a happy flippin' end to 2020!
> 
> I finished the second chapter!
> 
> And it's even more boring and more medically horrifying than the last one!
> 
> And I'm posting this on my lunch break because I'm afraid if I don't do it now I'll forget.
> 
> Next chapter of Taut will happen in the hopefully distant future.
> 
> I need to eat my lunch before my 30 minutes are up.

The Central City Museum of Natural History was a few blocks over from the university.

The school day had ended, but Ed was pleasantly surprised to see the stone entrance steps and the marble-floored lobby filled with children and their families. The receptionist began reading them the admittance prices, but Atkins interrupted her with a gesture, then whispered something to her over the desk so the brothers couldn’t hear. Her eyes rounded in shock and she stared unashamedly at the two young men, the younger whom raised a hand in greeting.

The receptionist stuttered out that their admittance fees had been waived and that anything they wished to purchase from the cantina or the gift shop were free of charge. She then asked if the brothers would like a private tour of the museum, also free of charge.

Edward, who once would have accepted the lady’s offer with cool entitlement, struggled to find words as his face rapidly turned pink.

Alphonse, as always, came to his brother’s rescue, and said no, thank you, they would rather have the standard tour.

Nevertheless, they were placed at the front of the line and left two minutes later with a group of what looked like university students trying to find exhibits to write papers on.

Ed and Al had been too busy with the military and researching on how to get their bodies back to be concerned with any part of the museum that wasn’t related to alchemy, all of which was exhibits on concepts they had been familiar with from a young age. Now, simply viewing the displays and listening to the tour guide explain their properties and histories, Ed found himself wishing they had taken the time to visit.

After walking through a hall of giant ancient bones that reminded Ed sickeningly of what Envy’s skeleton might have looked like (the tour guide said some specialists claimed they were proof that dragons had once roamed the earth), glass cases of pottery and cloth left from the tribes and clans that had lived on the land that was now Amestris (Edward squealed with delight when they got to the spears and swords and quickly dodged behind Al when the rest of the party looked their way); and a cathedral-like room full of early industrial antiques, including the first train engine and a replica of a typical rural homestead (Alphonse had cried out in horror at the sight of the taxidermied animals surrounding the wax figures and Ed had turned him away from the morbid sight, shushing and consoling until Al finally quietened), they reached the corridor dedicated to the history of medicine.

The herbal remedies and disused tools were fascinating.

They burst into tears at the sight of the dead babies.

Doctor Atkinson gave them a handkerchief and gentle pats on the shoulder.

“Yes, it’s very sad… Most of them were born dead. We study them to make sure no mother has to lose her child to the same causes.”

The medical students and tour guide cast them sympathetic glances, but didn’t approach.

Instead, they waited patiently for the brothers to compose themselves.

Al gave an appreciative smile, his cheeks and eyes red.

“S-sorry,” he sniffled. “We… we…”

“Knew a little person who couldn’t be saved?” offered one of the more proximal students. “I had a little sister who died of polio when she was five. I cried when I saw this part of the exhibit the first time, too.”

Alphonse looked away sheepishly. Edward was too busy scrubbing at his eyes to say anything.

“S-something like that…”

They moved on.

XXX

Edward was surprised by the surreality he felt when they came across the amputated body parts. Most of them had been removed due to diseases, like leprosy and gangrene, but some had clearly been torn off in accidents.

The muscles and vessels were pale and still, bland and still.

“It’s actually less gross-looking when it’s alive,” he heard himself commenting at a slice of severed leg.

The entire party stared at him.

Ed’s mouth went dry.

Doctor Atkins, knowing what he meant, looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to elaborate.

He did not.

He cowered behind his brother again.

The innards were a little more interesting, what with the different shapes and lobes and tubes. Ed saw an attendant setting up a glass case.

The crisp new placard said:

_Kidney (left)_

_Eviscerated through blunt force trauma_

_Graciously donated by E. Elric_

Edward skipped away from it as if it had threatened to kill him.

When the professor had said they would make preparations “posthaste,” he’d meant it.

The tour group was too busy looking at cases that actually had displays to notice.

“This is a specimen we are quite proud of,” the guide was saying when Ed caught up. The university students were crowded around whatever it was for a closer look, cutting off Ed’s view. “It is very nearly complete, as you will notice by the clear formations of the attempted structures. When it was brought to us, the curator thought it was an impressive fraud. Sequencing testing and analysis by our medical and alchemy specialists determined it to be authentic.”

Doctor Atkins seemed to puff up when he heard himself mentioned and Ed suddenly felt ill.

“Where did this come from?” one of the students asked, his voice high with awe.

“The patient from which it originated from was transfixed by a large foreign object in the left lumbar quadrant. The injury was stop-gapped using amateur medical alchemy to keep the patient from fatally hemorrhaging before they could be reached by medical personnel.”

Edward would have typically bristled at being called an amateur.

As it was, he was too busy keeping his legs from buckling.

Doctor Atkins turned to him, presumably to say something, but was stopped by Al appearing from the crowd.

His face was white as sheet.

“Brother… you don’t have to look, okay? We can just go, just let the university deal with it.”

This was so backwards from what Alphonse had been saying since they received the Atkins’s that Ed felt his remaining insides tumble around inside him, as if they were celebrating being united from the parts of them that had been taken.

“Let me see it.”

“Brother –”

“You’re the one who insisted we do this. Let me see it.”

Al’s mouth clopped shut.

The tour guide continued answering questions as Edward pushed his way to the front.

“Is the originator still alive?”

“They are. The university made contact with them recently to check on their status.”

“What was the recovery period?”

“The injury destroyed the patient’s lower colon and a segment of the small intestine. The medial team who treated them surgically removed the growth and then reconstructed the patient’s GI tract with an alternative evasion route. They were then held in intensive care for six weeks during the post surgery recovery.”

“Experimental visceral reconstruction! Oh, I’d love to see that.”

One must be careful of what they wish for, the student who’d commented learned that day, as he was suddenly assaulted by limp body as Edward pushed his way through the group, saw the exhibit, and promptly lost consciousness.

XXX

Al shrieked and began violently shoving and clawing his way through the swell of people to reach his brother.

“Clear the way!” Atkins barked in a commanding tone honed from years supervising new adults and giving lectures. The wall of students split cleaner than if it had been cleaved by a butcher’s knife and Alphonse leapt to his brother’s side.

The student who had caught him had not let go. He’d lowered Edward to the floor slowly, Ed’s head in his lap an immediately took Ed’s wrist to measure his pulse. Another student left to fetch Edward some water and a third knelt on Ed’s other side and began maneuvering Ed’s arms out of his coat.

“Brother! Brother, talk to me!”

“I think he’s only swooned. His heartbeat’s going back up and his breathing’s normal.” He peeled open Edward’s eyes one by one, moving his head this and what to study their reaction to the light from the bulbs on the ceiling. “Irises are behaving as they should, so there’s no aneurysm. Yeah, it’s just a vasovagal.”

The student removing Ed’s coat had moved on to his legs, gathering them under the knees and lifting them with a grunt.

“What’s going on? Brother? What are you doing to his legs?”

“I’m moving the blood from his feet to his brain with gravity,” the student explained, shifting her grip on Ed’s knees. “It’ll help him wake up faster… Geez, he’s heavy.”

“Put down his left leg.” Al knew that Ed probably wouldn’t appreciate the extra attention, but right now he was more concerned about the amount of blood in his brother’s brain.

The student raised an eyebrow but obeyed, guiding Ed’s left leg to the floor gently and raising his right leg straight up.

She whistled.

“Wow, that’s much better. Is his other leg made of metal?”

Then she realized and her face turned red from more than just exertion.

“What’s his name?” the student cradling Edward’s head asked Al as he began softly tapping on Ed’s face.

“Ed. Edward. What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s just had a bad spook. It happens to everyone sometime.”

Ed’s nose wrinkled and he jerked, instinctively turning away from the annoying pecking of the medical student’s fingers.

“Edward? Mister Edward, can you hear me? You’ve had a scare.”

“Brother? Brother, please wake up.”

At the sound of Al’s voice, Ed’s eyes opened and he sat up so quickly he nearly clocked Alphonse in the forehead with his own.

The student holding his leg let go of his knee and took Ed’s hands in her own.

“Easy, easy.”

Ed looked around as if he didn’t know where he was (which he probably didn’t), looked at his hands, looked at the woman holding his hands, looked passed her and saw –

His eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped forward. Al caught him and rested his brother’s head on his shoulder.

“Brother?”

Edward’s body gave an almighty shudder and he made a noise that sounded lime something between a gasp and hiccup.

_“It has_ teeth _.”_

The voice was so warped that at first Al didn’t know that Ed had spoken.

Alphonse couldn’t stop himself from looking at the… _thing_ locked behind the glass case.

Given that the creature looked back with bulbous black eyes, the fact that it had more than a full set of teeth sprouting around the place that might I have supposed to be a mouth seemed to be one of its smaller horrors.

The student who’d left for water returned them, holding a glass bottle of soda from the museum’s cantina.

“The extra sugar should make him feel better,” she said, handing the bottle to Al. Ed was shaking and sweating against him.

The student holding Ed’s hands let go of him so he could take the drink. Instead Ed buried his face in his hands and started babbling.

_“It has_ teeth _and_ eyes _and_ hair _and – fuck, it was_ in me –”

If his revelation surprised any of the students, they didn’t show it. The tour guide was not so subtle, a hand flying to her mouth before she could stop herself.

Tanner Atkins decided it was time to intervene. As proud as he was of his students, he suspected that the best thing for the brothers right now would be privacy.

The professor slipped his hands under Ed’s arms and lifted him like he was a rag doll kitten, placing him on his feet and steadying him when he swayed. Al stood up swiftly and took his brother’s other side. One of the students picked up Edward’s coat and handed it to Al, who had finally managed to get Ed to take the soda bottle and hold it himself.

“All right,” said Atkins, nudging Edward to encourage him to start walking and failing, “how about we pay the curator a visit in her office? She’s the sweetest lady, almost as sweet as the candy she always has on her desk –”

“What is it?”

It was whispered, but the commanding tone caught the professor off guard and he didn’t answer.

“What _is_ it?!”

“It’s a teratoma,” the student who brought him the soda offered.

Ed’s grip on the bottle tightened as his alchemical brain automatically translated the Xerxesian work in the medical one.

_“Monster.”_

“‘Monstrous growth,’” another student finished the translation for him.

Ed ran his thumb up and down the side of the glass, feeling the condensation slide against his skin.

“It happens when the cells use the wrong part of the gene sequence,” the student who’d caught him when he’d fallen elaborated. “All the cells in your body have the same sequence, but only use the part of the code for the part of the body they’re in. Hair cells use only the part of the sequence about hair, teeth cells only use the part about teeth… a teratoma happens when some cells get confused about what part of the body they’re in and start using the wrong part of the sequence. Like, say some cells in the intestine think they’re actually in an eyeball so they use the part of the sequence about eyes, and then an eye starts growing in the intestine.”

Alphonse reached for the soda bottle and deftly twisted the cap off, since it looked like Ed didn’t have much interest in doing it himself. Edward listened to the fizzing sound of the carbonated pressure being released. He waited for reaction to burn itself out before bringing the bottle to his mouth and risking a swallow.

It was cream flavored.

“Cells judge where they are in the body by figuring out what the cells around them are,” the student who’d been holding Ed’s hands took up the explanation. “So the cells around the confused cells see that they’re next to eye cells, and then they get confused and think, ‘I’m next to an eye, so I must be a nose,’ and the cells next to those cells think, ‘I’m next to a nose so I must be a mouth,’ and start growing a tongue.’ And then it just keeps going until…”

“It makes a little person. Or it tries to,” Alphonse finished, glancing at the exhibit.

Ed followed his brother’s gaze, looked a little longer than before, then took a second drink.

“Does it… does it have a brain?”

“Sometimes,” another student shrugged noncommittally. “Any kind of cells can be found in a teratoma. But teeth and hair are the most common. They think it’s because your teeth and hair are the most replicated part so of the body.”

Edward’s eyes clouded with despair and his shivering reverted back to shuddering.

“So… so it… it was…”

“Oh, no, no,” Doctor Atkins spoke this time, realizing where Ed’s train of thought had been heading. “Teratoma aren’t… it’s not a _child_. It’s more like a… a freckle.”

“Or a bunion,” said a student.

“Or when you burp and puke in your mouth instead,” said another.

“No, it’s not, Daryl.”

“It’s the same principle.”

“It’s really not, Daryl.”

“Your body tries to do one thing and goes too far.”

“Your body actually has ‘burps’ like this all the time,” said the student who was trying to get Daryl to shut up. “It usually catches it, though, and stops the confused cells before they can really do anything. It’s only when the confused cells grow faster than your body can stop them that you have a problem, and that’s really rare. Like when an alchemist who doesn’t know how cell replication works tries to regrow his small intestine.”

Edward actually let out a huff of amusement before pulling third swallow of his soda.

“I do too know how cell replication works,” he mumbled, pointedly looking at the floor.

“Oh yeah,” said Daryl, “then in what phase do the chromosomes become chromatids for separation?”

Ed spun the bottle around in his hands.

“Um… aren’t chromatids just parts of chromosomes?”

“Wrong!” Daryl crowed triumphantly. “Chromatids are the identical halves of chromosomes that form only during cell replication. The correct answer is G-two!”

“Actually, it’s prophase,” Alphonse cut in, wiping the smug grin off Daryl’s face. “G-two is when the strings of the gene sequence copy themselves in preparation of the G-two phase, which is when all the strings condense into chromosomes, each made of two identical chromatids.”

“He’s right,” Doctor Atkins said, gesturing to Alphonse.

Edward studied the – _his_ teratoma in the case, the half-formed eyes and the curling hair and bubbling teeth.

“So I didn’t… I didn’t kill anyone?”

Al felt his heart break for his brother. It was far from the first time and Al was sure it wouldn’t be the last time.

Of course Ed would assume that his humanoid tumor was akin to a fetus.

“No, Brother. You didn’t kill it. It was never alive, not like that.”

Edward sighed and took a long swig of his cream soda.

In the ensuing silence, Daryl (of course it was Daryl) broke it by saying, “So, what happened?”

Ed chocked, Al thumped him on the back, Doctor Atkins gave the student a glare so dark that he shrank into himself, and the student next to him slapped him.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Edward said once he caught his breath. “You already know everything else. I just… I fell.”

Daryl rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, you fell. And you snagged your intestines on a fence post and yanked ‘em out, right?”

“Well, the ‘fall’ was fifty feet and the ‘fence post’ was ten by three and made of steel. But, yes.”

Edward’s ability to recover for the sake of having the last word would never cease to amaze his brother.

XXX

“So what’s the part that looks a flower? The part with all the bumps?”

“That’s the renal medulla. It’s a system of tiny tubes that work like a backwards hose. Instead pumping out water, it sucks up all the water and sugar and all that stuff that you don’t want to lose and then sends the stuff you don’t want to keep to your bladder so you can pee it out.”

Ed fondled his chin, a habit he inherited from their father though Al would never tell him this.

“So I’ve lost my piss machine.”

“Well, you only need one. Your remaining kidney can do just as well on its own. You have an extra one in case one of them breaks. Same with your lungs. And your eyes and ears. And your testicles.”

Silence.

“Do… do you have –”

“No, Daryl, I may have a rubber rectum and a metal leg, but my balls are both organic.”

“And it’s a good thing, too. Winry would be so disappointed.”

And then Ed left of f studying his newly jarred kidney to chase his brother, who was cackling like mad, between displays of amputated hands and feet, out of the medical exhibit and into a room full of stuffed jungle cats from southern Creta.

So when the students and the professor saw Edward chase Alphonse out of the hall and then Alphonse came running back in tears, screaming, “ _They killed them! They killed them!”_ into Edward’s arms, no one slapped Daryl when he voiced what they were all thinking.

“Whoever this ‘Winry’ is, they’re either a war veteran or an alcoholic. Maybe both.”

XXX

They got back to Risembool late that night – or early the next morning depending on one’s perspective.

When Winry woke up with the rooster to find Alphonse scrambling eggs for breakfast, she sliced some bread from the breadbox and popped the pieces into the toaster.

“How was it?”

“We’re going back next month.”

Winry had been filling the kettle with water at the sink for coffee; she nearly dropped it at Al’s answer.

“What?! Why?! What happened? What did Ed do this time?”

Al smiled as he scraped the eggs to keep them from sticking to the skillet.

“They asked Ed if he would let them study his stomach-pouch in a private seminar. He said only if Daryl demonstrated how to empty it.”

“Who’s Daryl?”

Al dashed some salt over the eggs with a wicked grin.

“A very unlucky bastard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I GOOGLED TERATOMA FOR THIS FIC AND I REGRETTED IT IMMEDIATELY

**Author's Note:**

> Probably unnecessary, but colostomies are real things.
> 
> They first started becoming sophisticated in the Civil War when soldiers would literally have their guts blown out of their bodies by cannon balls.
> 
> In modern times, they're given to patients recovering from intestinal surgery and survivors of colon cancer.
> 
> Now I have to go kay thanks bye.


End file.
